When he looks up, I can see the gold flecks in his eyes, the fine lines around them.
“How old are you?” I ask.
He raises a brow as if my question is so very gauche. “I’m thirty-five.”
“You’re so old!” I blurt before I realize that’s unwise.
Fortunately, he gives a slight chuckle. “That’s two. And I am not pleased that you are only nineteen. We will have to accept it.”
He’s seen so much more of the world than I have, he’s experienced more than I can imagine. Feeling awkward, I shrug and try on a smile that feels like it wants to stay. “What kind of tattoo will you cover this wound with?”
“I hadn’t thought,” he says, pulling on a clean shirt and doing the world’s female population a grave disservice by buttoning it and hiding his incredible chest. I’m pretty sure I still hate him yet I can acknowledge this.
The flight attendant takes this moment to return with a charcuterie board and a bottle of wine. She merely smiles at the bloody gauze and swiftly tidies everything up like this isn’t the first time, then leaves us alone. Callum has wandered off somewhere in the back of the jet to make some calls.
“We have another hour to our destination,” Alastair says, pouring a glass of wine. When I hold up my empty one, he fills it too. We decimate the charcuterie board down to the last fragrant olive and plump bit of cheese, and I sigh happily as I sip from my second glass of wine.
Then, I feel instantly guilty. How dare I be enjoying this when my family is worried sick about me?
He took a bullet for you.Stubborn Sorcha reminds me. He did, without a second’s hesitation. Not the actions of a man who intends to hurt me.
“Thank you for saving my life,” I say. “It almost makes up for the extended imprisonment in my bedroom.”
“You did try to escape,” he reminds me.
“Aye, and like you wouldn’t have done the same?” I ask peevishly. Relaxed, bandaged Alastair seems to invite more plain speak than the chilly exchanges we had at the penthouse.
“Of course,” he agrees. “But you, darling, had no idea what was waiting for you outside. Zhang’s people were camped out around the building, not to mention a dozen more bastards that would attempt to get to you before your brothers could.”
Why am I not displeased that he called me darling? And in the car, during the chase when he called me his bride, I liked it. More than I should. Am I forgetting that this man bought me?
He bought you and saved you from evil fecks like Zhang. He put himself in front of a bullet for you…Stubborn Sorcha really needs to shut up.
I get up, pacing the aisle. Something occurs to me and I can’t smother my giggles.
“What’s making you laugh?”
“Um, Father Barclay,” I manage, “our parish priest.” I’m laughing so hard that I have to put my wineglass down to keep from spilling it. “He’s married all my brothers to their wives under some form of… duress. He has the richest parish in all of Scotland because he blackmailed my brothers into funding all his projects. I’m trying to decide if he’d be relieved that he didn’t have to marry us, or displeased.”
“We may not have used your family’s priest,” he says, “but I assure you, we are married.”
Then this surges right out of my mouth before I can stop it. “We haven’t consummated it. We could still get an annulment. You didn’t plan on this as a long-term thing, aye?”
Oh, sweet baby Jesus I said that out loud.
Alastair rises from his seat, stalking toward me. One big hand goes around my throat, the other around my waist, pulling me into him. “Does this feel like we won’t be consummating our marriage?”
There is something very thick and very hard pressing against my stomach.
“You are my wife,” he continues, “I am your husband and I assure you, we will consummate this marriage until you’re too sore to walk.”
I don’t know if it’s the wine or the giant thing pressing against me, but that sounds less like a threat and actually, rather promising. His fingers stroke lightly against the pulse in my throat and I know he can feel it accelerating to a hummingbird level of activity.
“You hate my family,” I whisper, “why would you want this?”
For the first time since I met him, Alastair looks the slightest bit uncertain. “I do despise them,” he agrees. “But the thought of you as my wife… the feel of you under my hand… you are mine now.”
His thumb slides up and strokes over my lips before he bends down and kisses me.
